Author's note: Sorry it's been a while. The internet at home isn't working. I had to come to the library and use theirs in order to post this. I don't know when the internet problems will get cleared up, so updating will certainly not be as often. Again, sorry.

"Should I feel guilty?" I asked. I couldn't help it. I felt guilty. I also felt petty, and selfish, and any number of other less than enjoyable emotions.

My wife let go of me and pulled away so she could study my face. "For what?" She asked, giving no indication that she had had other plans for tonight than to sit and reassure her husband.

"For feeling jealous." I admitted.

"Of whom?" She asked, her eyes wide, as if the idea of me being jealous of someone were something that had never occurred to her. It didn't help anything. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should have said anything at all, but eventually I gave in.

"Mr. Holmes." I said.

My wife was silent for a moment, trying to decide what she thought I needed to hear. "No." She said at last. "You're only human, Giles."

"I am glad he's back." I defended myself unnecessarily. "And happy for the Doctor."

"Of course you are." My wife agreed. "I don't doubt that."

I sighed. "It's just...never mind."

"Give it time, dear." Lizzie murmured. "For all intents and purposes, John's just gotten his brother back." I wondered anew at how well the woman seemed to know me, how she seemed to read my mind at such times as these.

"I know." I said.

"He's not going to forget you, Giles. And Mr. Holmes wasn't slighting you. You know that."

"I know."

"And you are only human."

I made a face. "It irritates me though, that we all have such blind faith in the man, that we put so much trust in him, and he does things like pretend he's dead for three years. Doctor Watson shouldn't have had to resort to getting comfort from me after his wife died. He shouldn't have had to spend three years thinking his best friend was dead. And he should have been the first to find out that Mr. Holmes wasn't. I found out before the Doctor did, Lizzie!"

"Business first, dear." My wife offered serenely. "Would you expect anything else from the man?"

"This was Doctor Watson." I insisted. "The only man in the world he actually considered a friend. The Doctor trusts him, and he abuses that trust. And the man still trusts him anyway!"

"You've had a shock, dear." My wife said soothingly. "You're overwrought, and you're not thinking clearly."

I frowned at her. "I'm not overwrought."

"You found out this morning that Sherlock Holmes was alive after three years of thinking he was dead. Tell me that didn't do something to you, and tell me that you weren't too busy doing your job to figure out what." My wife's eyebrows were raised, daring me to disagree with her.

I didn't. She was right, after all. "So what do I feel, anyway?" I asked. "I mourned the man. I watched those around me mourn him. I met the Doctor at the bloody railroad station as he came back." I paused for a moment, trying to sort out my thoughts. Lizzie simply waited.

"I wanted to grab the man by his shoulders and shake him and demand to know what he thought he was playing at back there. I wanted to poke him to see if he was real. I considered checking myself in to the nearest mental institution. What I did was politely welcome the man back to London as if he'd simply been gone on holiday! Is there something wrong with me?"

My wife looked thoughtful. "Kristina claims you were dropped on your head as a child." She teased gently. "Is there any validity to that?"

I snorted. "I was five." I told her. "And my brother had shoved me out of the bed."

My wife studied me intently. "I didn't know you had a brother."

"I had four." I told her. "And another sister, other than Kristina."

"You never told me that." There was no accusation in the statement, just curiosity.

I shrugged. "You never asked."

"I didn't think you wanted to talk about it." Lizzie admitted.

"I didn't." I admitted. I wondered if she were purposely trying to side track me, or if she were giving me the opportunity to think while we had this ridiculous conversation.

"So did it do any damage when they dropped you on your head?" My wife wondered.

I sighed. "It did not cause any permanent physical damage." I clarified, and was grateful when Lizzie did not ask for more. Though how she always knew when to leave things alone was beyond me.

"Good." She said. "Now do you mind if I distract you from your troubles until tomorrow, or would you rather worry them through the rest of the night?"

I considered the question for all of two seconds. "Just what do you mean, distract me?"

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.